Rogue hesitated for a second, crouching on the window sill of a second-story office as her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside. She stepped down onto the deep pile carpet, joining Cyclops and Phoenix; the latter had telekinetically unlocked and opened the window from without before levitating her husband and herself into the building.
Cyclops was already feeling his way along the paneled walls, looking for the secret door that Shaw had told him about. It opened with a soft click, and he led the way into the narrow tunnel beyond it. The trio of X-Men tried to move quietly but quickly all the same. They had little doubt that Selene would have sensed their presence already; by the time her grotesque followers reached this room, they intended to be far away from it.
They must have been directly over the ballroom, because the floor hummed with the sound of music and laughter from below. Rogue smiled as the music was abruptly curtailed and the laughter turned into screams. Nightcrawler’s distraction, right on time. She pictured him bouncing around the room, perhaps landing on the heads of a few party guests, teleporting from spot to spot in clouds of sulphurous smoke until nobody could be quite sure how many of him there were. He wouldn’t harm anybody, of course, but the guests didn’t know that. The appearance of a blue-skinned demon in their midst was causing chaos. It would certainly lessen the number of innocent bystanders in the building, and provide a distraction to boot.
Cyclops navigated his way sure-footedly around a labyrinth of passageways until the X-Men emerged onto a landing. It was lit but deserted, so he hurried across it and found another secret panel in the opposite wall. It opened into the side of a vertical shaft, which extended down into the darkness for as far as Rogue could see; certainly far beyond ground level. Curved metal rungs were set into its side at intervals, but the X-Men could make faster progress without them. Phoenix lowered herself and Cyclops into the depths while Rogue followed under her own power.
Black, scummy water filled the bottom few inches of the shaft. Hovering above it, Cyclops slid back another panel but found only a rock wall behind it. One of Selene’s modifications, clearly. With a scowl, he curled up his fingers and operated his visor.
The wall was not thick, and it blew apart beneath an onslaught of red energy. Fragments ricocheted around the confined space of the shaft, but Phoenix’s telekinesis ensured that none of the X-Men were hit.
The first thing that struck them as they stepped into a tiny, stonewalled cell was the heat. It was dry and oppressive; it wrapped itself around them and filled their lungs as they breathed. Rogue wrinkled her nose in distaste at the distinctive odor of brimstone. She found her eyes drawn to a set of manacles, which were tied by chains to a ring bolted into the floor.
There was a small window, but it was barred and shuttered from the far side. The door was made of thick wood; Cyclops took one look at the sturdy lock before he shot it out.
The trio of X-Men emerged into an enormous, dank cavern. Even the light from its wall-mounted braziers could not dispel the shadows in its distant heights and its myriad nooks and corners. Dark alcoves and narrow passageways led off in all directions and at various heights, and Rogue counted another twelve doors. She could hear noises—scratching and skittering—but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see what was causing them. She caught only a few vague, disconcerting blurs of movement with the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll say one thing for Selene,” she whistled. “She sure knows how to stamp her mark on a property. She’s given this whole place a makeover in ‘Early Inferno’ style.”
She heard approaching footsteps and readied herself for action. But the new arrivals were only Wolverine and Iceman; they appeared at the mouth of a passageway some five feet above the ground. They dropped down into the main cavern, and the two groups of X-Men met in its center. Storm and Sebastian Shaw arrived together a moment later, and Nightcrawler materialized beside them, having been guided in telepathically by Phoenix.
“I don’t like this,” said Wolverine, “not one bit. It’s too quiet.”
“From what I have heard,” said Shaw, “these cells are normally in use.”
“I presume nobody ran into trouble on the way here?” asked Phoenix.
Storm shook her head. “It’s as if Selene intended us to get this
far.”
“My thinking precisely,” said Cyclops, “but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“At least not until it bares its teeth at us,” said Nightcrawler.
A flight of crumbling stone steps led up one side of the cavern to a set of huge, metal-studded double doors. “That way?” Cyclops asked Shaw.
“That way,” he confirmed.
But before anybody could move, a deep rumbling sound reached the X-Men’s ears. The ground vibrated and, for a second, Rogue feared that they were standing at the epicenter of an earthquake. The sound became louder, more savage: it was the clashing and rending of stone, and she realized now what was happening. The openings in the walls were sealing themselves off; stone was flowing like treacle, gray tendrils joining hands across the gaps but hardening as soon as they had formed their new shapes. The wooden cell doors splintered, cracked and popped out of their frames as the apertures behind them were filled. Even Wolverine was not fast enough to escape in time; he made a start towards the nearest exit but stopped himself when he realized that it was futile. Silence returned to the catacombs as the X-Men realized that they were trapped.
And then shapes began to appear in the wall behind them: patches of darker gray, which grew until they had joined together and resolved themselves into a humanoid form. A gigantic figure was pushing its way through the wall itself. Its body could have been made of stone, except that short black spines grew all over it. Longer spines sprouted from its head like petrified hair, and shadows shifted across a face that was featureless but for a pair of smoldering red eyes. Those shadows seemed to come from within rather than without.
The creature drew itself up to its full height. Its head almost scraped the cavern roof, and the tallest of the X-Men didn’t even come up to its knees; it could probably have knocked them all down with one sweep of its spiny tail. Rogue knew that this had to be Selene’s demonic consort, Blackheart.
Iceman summed up her feelings perfectly. “We are in big trouble!” he murmured.
PHOENIX TROD with caution as she led Cyclops and Wolverine into an empty basement apartment in Chelsea. Her psi-scans had
_suggested that nobody was waiting for them—but this was a city
of mutants, and those scans had been fooled too many times already. This time, she was relieved to find that they were correct.
The sun was rising, and thin tendrils of cold light pierced the grime on the windows to illuminate a room that had not been used in months. It had not been vandalized, at least, but it had been abandoned in a hurry. Some items remained on its shelves, but there were several gaps. Phoenix sat down on a two-seater couch, and Wolverine flung his tom mask aside and dropped into a chair. Cyclops remained on his feet, pacing. It had been his idea to take cover for an hour or so; if too many people headed for the rebels’ secondary base at once, it would attract attention. Nevertheless, he was not particularly skilled at waiting around.
Jean had been keeping a telepathic trace on Storm, so it was a simple matter to contact her again. I have found the White Knight, Ororo reported. He tells me that ‘Location D’ is an office in a building opposite Battery Park. His people are under instructions to approach it in groups of two or three over a number of hours. She supplied an address, which Phoenix repeated out loud for the benefit of her companions. She also promised to pass on the information to the rest of the X-Men, and to meet up with Storm soon.
She settled back against the couch cushions and tried to clear her mind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on reaching outwards, feeling her way around New York City for familiar thought patterns. Storm had given her an approximate location for Nightcrawler and Rogue, but it wasn’t until she rai
sed her sights above street level that she was able to get a fix on them. They were on a rooftop in the vicinity of Fifth Avenue. She put them in the picture, but learned that they hadn’t seen Iceman since he had left the PATH station ahead of them. Nor had anybody seen Shaw since Wolverine’s encounter with him in the tunnel.
She continued her search, but found herself distracted by an argument that had broken out between Cyclops and Wolverine. She tried to ignore it.
“And I’m telling you,” growled Wolverine, “in a place like this, your precious rules don’t apply. It’s ‘kill or be killed,’ and I’m not gonna get myself skewered by some freak like Deathstrike because you want to play at being the big blue boy scout as usual.”
“You’d rather we lower ourselves to her level?”
“If that’s what it takes, yeah!”
“So, what’s your plan, Logan? To take a tip from Fitzroy? Find ourselves a fortress, build up an army and fight some squalid little turf war until there’s nobody left in this city?”
“All I’m saying is, we can’t afford to be soft. Selene’s tough enough on her own; she’s damn near unbeatable with Blackheart on her side. We can do without the likes of Fitzroy and Deathstrike getting in the way of what’s got to be done. And since we can’t exactly have them carted off to the Vault, that just leaves one way of getting them out of our hair.”
“I won’t take a life until there’s absolutely no option,” said Cyclops stubbornly.
“Wake up, Summers,” sneered Wolverine. “We passed that point as soon as Selene’s barrier went up. Some time, if not today, we’re gonna have to go back to that witch’s lair. We’re gonna have to fight her, not just for Manhattan but for the whole blamed world. If she wins—if your squeamishness makes the difference—how many people will die then? Do you think your bleeding-heart conscience can to cope with that?”
Jeannie, came Iceman’s voice in Phoenix’s mind, am I glad to hear from you!
Where are you, Bobby? she asked.
23rd and Lexington. I was following one of our mutate friends, but I don’t think she trusted me. She gave me the slip; wriggled away through a sewer grating.
Phoenix repeated the details of the rendezvous point again, not quite able to tune out her husband’s voice: “Blackheart must have shown you something. Back in Selene’s catacombs, when he tried to bring out our dark sides ... what did he show you, Logan?”
“That’s none of your damn business, One-Eye!”
“Whatever it was,” said Cyclops sourly, “you’ve obviously learned nothing from it.”
Phoenix located Shaw at last, but frowned at the discovery that he was with Storm. She wondered why Ororo hadn’t mentioned it. Come to think of it, she had been picking up tension between those two ever since the Beast’s kidnapping. Jean didn’t like to pry, but she was a little hurt that her old friend didn’t wish to confide in her.
“What do you think, Red?” asked Wolverine, snapping her out of her reverie.
It took her a moment to readjust to the physical world. “I can see both your points,” she hedged as she tried to order her thoughts. It wasn’t the answer that either of her teammates were looking for, so she added tactfully: “I think we need more information. Ever since we arrived here, we’ve been on the ropes, reacting to one attack after another. I was wondering earlier about the world outside Manhattan Island. I’d like to see it, maybe track down a few people out there. It might help us to gain a little perspective on the whole situation.” Cyclops rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s feasible, I suppose. As mutants, we should be able to come and go through the barrier as we please.”
“That’s just running away from the problem,” snarled Wolverine. “People inside the barrier are sick and dying while Selene rations the medicine that could save them. They can’t just turn tail and get out of here—and some of them can’t afford to sit around while we decide if we want to dirty our hands or not.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” protested Cyclops.
“It’s just that we’ve lost so many of our friends already,” said Phoenix, “and Selene has had a year to plan for our arrival. We don’t want to make the wrong move.”
“If you want my opinion,” said Wolverine, “the only way to make all this better is to stop it before it starts.”
“You mean—?” began Cyclops.
“Time travel. Back to where we came from.”
Cyclops looked doubtful. “I’m not sure that’s a serious option. We’ve found ways of travelling through time before, but we’ve always agreed that it’s too dangerous. To interfere with our own past is to play with fire, and it might not even do us any good.”
“Who’s talking about our past?” countered Wolverine. “I’m talking about our present.”
“But what if this is our present now?”
“I don’t accept that. Selene used her hocus-pocus to zap us into the future—a future that, as far as I’m concerned, ain’t happened yet. We just need to reverse that spell.”
“We can’t be sure we actually traveled through time,” cautioned Cyclops. “It felt more like some kind of suspended animation; like Selene had shunted us into another dimension for a year, only we weren’t aware of it.” He longed to be convinced; Phoenix could feel as much through the psychic link that she and her husband shared. He wanted as much as she did to be able to wipe the slate clean, to put right everything that had gone wrong. He wanted a second chance. But he had to be sure. He had to know that it was the right thing to do.
“Either way,” said Wolverine, “it boils down to the same thing. I ain’t talking about going back and meeting our past selves, changing their lives, because they won’t be around. We’re just taking back the year that’s been stolen from us.”
Scott sat down heavily beside his wife and rested his chin in his hands. “And how do we achieve that? By capturing Selene, I suppose, and forcing her to do as we say?”
Wolverine grinned. “That’s one way, sure-but I reckon I’ve got an easier one.”
Jean realized what he was about to say, and the pair spoke in unison: “Fitzroy!”
This time, it was a simple matter to gain access to Avengers Mansion, A detention coil twitched on the ground but lacked the energy to rise, and a gun placement swiveled to target the intrader but the gun itself had been destroyed.
Shaw picked his way through the partially collapsed hallway and into the Avengers’ meeting room, where their long conference table with its distinctive “A” logo lay shattered. He had been prepared to wait, but the sounds of movement from an adjoining room told him that he wouldn’t have to.
He had been right about Fitzroy: he had always been more stubborn than he was practical. Unable to accept the loss of his headquarters, he had risked returning to it. Shaw found the young mutant lying with his head beneath a curved console, cursing under his breath as his attempts to rewire it went slowly. He had made the mistake of stepping out of his suit of bio-armor, which stood to one side like a silent sentry. Without it, his wiry frame, clad in a form-fitting costume of black and white, looked small. Small and insignificant.
Shaw made sure that he was standing between the boy and the armor before he announced his presence with a polite cough. Fitzroy started and banged his head on the console’s underside. He shot out from beneath it, and his eyes widened in alarm at the sight of his one-time employer.
Shaw smiled. “Well, well, what am I going to do with you? My White Rook...’’
“Not any more,” snarled Fitzroy. “Your time has past, old man. You have no power here.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Shaw conversationally. “Are you sure I couldn’t crack your skull like an eggshell now that you don’t have your technology to hide behind?”
“I have powers of my own, remember. I can take you.” Fitzroy’s gaze flicked nervously back and forth between Shaw and the armor, undermining his boast.
“One day, perhaps, we shall test that claim. For today, I have not come
here to fight you.”
“No?”
“No. I am here to propose an alliance.”
Fitzroy sneered openly; he had always been too transparent for his own good. “And what makes you think you have anything to offer me?”
“Perhaps you are content to live as Selene’s lackey. I am offering you far more than that: a partnership. We shall seize the New York Hellfire Club from her. I will be its Black King again, and you-you will be my White King.” Had Shaw not been such a practiced liar, the words would have choked him. He had gained Fitzroy’s reluctant interest, though.
“You’re no match for Selene,” he said doubtfully.
“In this time period, with her servants around her, perhaps not.” Fitzroy’s mouth cracked into a grin. “So, that’s what you want from me. You need my power to create portals through time and space.”
“I wish to return to the past, to the moment from which I was snatched.”
“And your friends in the X-Men?”
“They need not know about this. Selene is overconfident. If we can take her by surprise, I have little doubt that the two of us alone can defeat her. We can take the Legacy Virus cure for ourselves. Imagine what we could do with that power, Fitzroy. We could build a new-a better-Hellfire Club with ourselves at its helm.”
Fitzroy was tempted; Shaw could see his internal struggle reflected in his twitching features. But finally the young mutant shook his head. “I don’t trust you, Shaw. You expect me to believe you’d share your power, once you had taken what you wanted from me?”
Despite himself, Shaw felt his smile broadening. “You impress me, Fitzroy. I never thought I’d say that. You have grown up a little at last.” He hardened his expression. “Regrettably, however, I cannot allow you to refuse me. You will open that portal.”
The Legacy Quest Trilogy Page 38
